


Missed Opportunities

by mydeira



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 15:34:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydeira/pseuds/mydeira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens to those potentials who missed being called?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wakeup Call

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to my kick-ass beta, Sadbhyl, for giving me the inspiration and motivation to do this story. Written for the When the Clock Strikes Challenge (on LiveJournal).

Karen Ellis stood in line at the Laramie Wal-Mart checkout lane thirteen, waiting her turn to pay.  If it weren’t for the low prices, she would shop at the grocer near her small apartment to avoid the crowds.  She had never cared to be around large groups of people, but one had to make do.

 

At forty-three years of age, Karen had come to terms that she would never achieve anything great in her life.  She had grown to love her solitude and simple way of life.  She had job with decent pay and benefits—working as a stylist at the Farnsworth Funeral Home.  It gave Karen enough money to pay for a comfortable apartment and feed her addiction for movies and mystery/suspense novels.  They gave her all the excitement she needed for her otherwise uneventful existence.

 

It was an uneventful existence that left her feeling and looking old before her time.  By her twenty-fifth birthday, her once chocolate-colored hair had turned completely grey.  And her face, while wrinkles were still few, had a sort of lost, defeated look that down-played her sharp but attractive features.  Her five-foot-ten-inch frame lent her a somewhat imposing presence that was undercut by her reserved attitude. 

 

Karen realized life wasn’t over after thirty-five; she had years ahead of her.  But she had no more to look forward to now than she did when she passed up a fellowship with the British Museum Department of Antiquities, specifically ancient weaponry.  At twenty-three with her dissertation well underway and a promising start to a career, she had woke up one morning about a week before she was to leave and realized she didn’t care.  Karen had always been an ambitious and driven person, but then it was gone.  One day she was ready to go to any lengths and the next, getting up and getting dressed was all she really cared about.

 

To say that Doctor Reichfeld, her mentor and close friend for most of her collegiate existence, was disappointed would be an understatement.  Second thoughts were to be expected when faced with such a large step, but to give up on it altogether . . .  Was there anything he could do?  Did something happen?  No, she just didn’t want it anymore.

 

Her mother had shown less concern and more tough love when her only daughter showed up at her beauty salon in Woods Landing asking for a job.  No college educated daughter of hers was going to waste her life catering to a bunch of ungrateful, gossipy women.  Yes, the women had loved her work in the summers Karen had spent there, saving up for college expenses.  She made the most complex styles look as easy as breathing.  But why in the hell would she want to give up a doctoral degree and what amounted to a free-ride to living in London to instead work in a worn-out old town doing the hair of a bunch of worn-out old women.  Well, if she was going to do that, that Naomi Ellis had no daughter.  Karen, unable to argue, had left without another word and gone back to find something in Laramie.

 

While she wasn’t a certified cosmetologist, she had enough experience for Oscar Farnsworth to hire her on the spot.  No degree meant he could pay her a bit less than other applicants.  Qualified and affordable.  Karen only cared that she made enough to pay the bills.

 

Doctor Reichfeld had tried for the next two years to convince her to reconsider.  She had too much potential to throw it all away for whatever her reasons were.  Not even Karen really knew why she gave up on a life-long dream so suddenly.  Ancient weaponry just didn’t appeal to her anymore and the thought of working day-in-day-out with them was depressing.  Realizing she wouldn’t be swayed, her mentor and friend had finally given up.  After twenty-years they still exchanged Christmas cards, but that was it.

 

Karen came back to herself as she realized she was next in line.  She hadn’t thought about that in years.  A part of her always had regretted the decision; she might have been someone great.  But for the most part she was content.  Not happy, but content.  She had made her choice twenty years ago and it hadn’t bothered her much until . . . well, now.  Frowning, she pushed the thought away.  Karen glanced at her watch, 12:11 PM.  If she got through the line relatively quickly, she would be able to get back to the funeral home with enough time to add a few last minute touches for the viewing at one.

 

The cashier was in the process of totaling up Karen’s purchases when it happened.  One minute she was fine, and the next she was doubled over trying to catch her breath.  It felt like a truck had slammed into her chest.  Oh God, this was it!  Forty-three years old and she was going to die in line at a Wal-Mart.  Karen Ellis who could have been—The pressure exploded, sending an intense fire radiating from her center outward.  The feeling was intense, but not quite painful.  And then, as quickly as it had hit, it was over.

 

“Ma’am?  Ma’am!”

 

Karen blinked in confusion at the young boy who looked at her with concern.

 

“Oh, I’m okay,” she said a bit dazed.  “How much will that be?”

 

“Should I get you some help?  Are you—”

 

“I’m okay,” she repeated, this time meaning it, because she really did feel okay, better than okay.  One didn’t feel better than okay if they just had a heart attack, did they?

 

After a prolonged debate, she finally convinced the youth she would be all right, paid for her purchases, and made her way out to the parking lot.  Deep down she knew that she should go to the hospital to get checked out, but she felt really good; better than she had in years.  Besides, she had her yearly check-up tomorrow.  It could wait until then.


	2. First Encounter

Ms. Anna Johnson had been found by a student outside the university campus center.  There were no signs of assault aside from the two puncture wounds on the left side of her neck.  Police were investigating, but since Anna’s business had plagued the department for five years, they weren’t overly concerned by her demise.

 

It was a shame, really, Karen thought.  Such a pretty young thing, make a couple bad choices, and you wind up with no one really caring what happens to you except for a few customers and a mortician’s assistant.

 

Karen was sifting through her makeup bag when she felt it.  She wasn’t alone.  After twenty years, the bodies never had that affect on her.  It was after 11:00pm; Oscar had left an hour earlier.  Normally Karen would have been gone, too, except with her appointment the next day, she wouldn’t be able to make the girl up before her viewing.

 

She shrugged it off.  Just a long day.  In all likelihood, she should have taken the day off, but she had felt fine, so why lose the pay?

 

While she had been driving to work, Karen’s vision had started to get blurry.  She was safely in the parking lot of Farnsworth Funeral Home before it got too bad.  The last thing she needed was to get a migraine.  In taking her glasses off, she realized that while she couldn’t see perfectly without the glasses, she could see better with them off than on.  Karen had worn glasses since the age of eight.  By eighteen she could maybe see up to six inches without them.  And now, well, she could almost make out the license plate twenty feet away.  Whatever the cause, it was cheaper than getting Lasiks.  As the day went on, her sight only improved.

 

Grabbing the colors she wanted, Karen turned around to see Ms. Anna Johnson sitting up and looking around.  In twenty years, Karen had only seen one body sit up, but that body hadn’t been looking around.  Only rigor mortis setting in.  But Anna had been dead for a little over two days and she was now looking right at Karen with what could only be described as hunger.

 

“Who knew he cared enough?” the woman stood up.

 

“W-who?” She was talking to the now walking corpse?  Why was she talking to it?  And not running or waking herself up?

 

“Ronald, my pimp.  Didn’t think he would have mourned more than the loss of income,” Anna stalked closer.  “And aren’t you a sweet one, making me look all pretty.  All alone, just us girls.  Kind of nice not having to work for my food.”

 

And at that the woman’s face contorted into pronounced ridges.  Her smile, at one time teasing, now turned feral with sharpened canines.  Dreaming.  She  was dreaming.  But when the woman lunged, knocking Karen to the floor, she knew she wasn’t dreaming.

 

Without thinking, Karen flipped the woman off of her and sprang to her feet.  Anna lunged again, but Karen ducked and knocked the other woman off her feet.  Then Karen did the one thing she should have done all along.  She ran.

 

Karen was at the door when she realized that she needed the keys to get out, and the keys were back in the workroom with Anna.  A small tingling told Karen that Anna was nearby again.  She ducked into the draperied cry room just in time to avoid being spotted.

 

“You can run,” Anna called out, pausing to sniff, “but you really can’t hide.”

 

Picking up a chair, Karen edged into the corner.  As if the day hadn’t been strange and eventful enough.  More had happened in the last twelve hours than in the past two decades.  Heart attack, improved vision, now she was being attacked by . . . by . . . a demonic prostitute?  Why was she really not that surprised?

 

“Come out, come out wherever you are?” Anna sing-songed.

 

Karen felt the tingling increase as the woman stalked closer.

 

Anna ducked her head in and was greeted by a wooden folding chair.  Stunned, she fell to the ground.  Karen waited, poking the girl with her toe; she didn’t get any movement.   So, taking the chance, she began to make her way around the body.  A moment later, she was facedown on the shag carpeting.

 

“You’re a smart one, I’ll give you that.  But we knew I’d win this one in the end.  Beauty over age and all,” Anna hissed.  She rolled Karen to face her.  “Think of it as a privilege.  You’re my first meal.”

 

Just as Anna was about to bite down, Karen’s hand found one of the chair legs and swung into Anna’s back.  A second later, Karen was alone in a pile of dust.  Then she did the only thing she could do.  She fainted.


	3. Morning After

Karen was awoken by an unmanly shriek.

 

“This is a disaster!  I’m ruined!”  Followed by huffs and groans.  “No, this can’t be happening.  _Not_ today.  Not with the Boyd family due in less than an hour!  It’s too much, I—Ahhh!”

 

Oscar Farnsworth stumbled back against the corner he had just turned when he came face to face with his very disheveled make-up artist. 

 

“Karen, don’t sneak up on a man like that! I—Are you alright?” he asked, finally somewhat recovered from his shock.

 

“I’m fine, Oscar, just a bit shaken up,” she forced a smile.  A bit shaken up was putting it mildly.  But at the moment she was more worried about how Oscar would react to Ms. Anna Johnson’s disappearance on top of the destruction of his main viewing room.

 

“Where you here when this happened?!” the little man was horrified.  You don’t spend twenty years working with a person and not get a little attached them.

 

“I was working late on Ms. Johnson when—”

 

“One of her customers came and paid a visit,” Oscar finished shaking his head.

 

“Well, n—” Karen stopped herself.  That was certainly more believable than the deceased trying to eat her then getting turned into a pile of dust.  “The body’s gone.”

 

“Gone?  What do you mean gone?”

 

“I, well, there um . . . was a struggle.  I didn’t get a good look at . . . him.  I tried to stop him and was knocked out of the way.  And I . . . I fainted and didn’t wake up until I heard you,” she recited slowly, trying to piece together a somewhat plausible story.

 

“You poor dear,” Oscar patted her arm, because there was only so much comfort a five-foot-six man could give to his five-foot-ten employee.  He noticed her once white now dusty blouse.  “I’m going to have to speak with Albert about keeping up with the cleaning here.”

 

Karen looked down at the blouse.  She had never been found of the thing in the first place, but had never thrown it out for being a perfectly good top.  Thank you Ms. Johnson.

 

“I should help you straighten things up, for the Boyd viewing,” she said, moving to right one of the toppled chairs.

 

“I will hear of no such thing.  You are to go straight home and take the rest of today off,” Oscar said firmly.  “No buts.  Albert, my no good brother should be in shortly.  We’ll just put up the partition and use the other half of the room.” 

 

She had already taken the morning off; adding the rest of the day was no stretch on Oscar’s part.

 

“You—you didn’t get . . . hurt did you?” Oscar looked her over warily.

 

“Oh, no!” she shook her head, realizing his meaning.  “Just a bit knocked about.”

 

“Good, good,” he patted her again.  “I’ll call you later and see how you’re doing.”

 

~*~

 

Two hours later, Karen was showered and waiting in her doctor’s office.

 

“Ms. Ellis,” a petit, blond nurse called her.  “If you will please follow me.”

 

Ten minutes later, after having her weight, blood pressure, and urine sample taken (she never could tolerate peeing in a cup), Karen was biding her time trying not to shiver too much in the air conditioning while clad only in the simple examination gown.

 

“Ah, Karen, another year already?” Dr. Foster entered after a jolly tap at the door.  A pudgy man of moderate temperament, Dr. Simon Foster had been her regular doctor since she first came to Laramie when she was seventeen.  “Any problems lately?”

 

Problems like the heart attack that wasn’t, vision improving, getting attacked by a demonic prostitute . . .  “No,” she decided, “nothing but age.”

 

He smiled and went about his exam.  While he was busy, Karen was surprised he didn’t find any bruises or marks from her scuffle with Ms. Johnson.  She had been knocked to the floor and struggled.  Wouldn’t her forty-three year old body show some sign of that.  Unless it didn’t happen?  But it did; how else could she explain the mess in the viewing room and waking up on the floor?

 

“Well, you seem to be in good health.  Excellent condition; stuck to that exercise regime I suggested?” he smiled good-naturedly when he had finished.

 

She’d tried the gym for a week, a year ago.

 

“I wish more women would take their health seriously, it does wonders,” he said standing up.  “So, I’ll see you this time next year?”

 

She nodded, watching him go.

 

“Oh, Karen, I like the contacts,” he added, leaving.

 

Karen stared at the door.  But she wasn’t wearing contacts.  Or her glasses either.


	4. Remembering the Forgotten

Karen wandered up and down the aisles at the downtown Barnes & Noble Booksellers looking for something, anything, that might help shed light on her new predicament.  While there was a _Self-Defense for Dummies_ there was no _Fending Off Attacks by Vampires for Dummies_.  Isn’t that what Ms. Johnson had turned into, a vampire?  Karen wasn’t oblivious to pop culture, she knew that sharp pointy fangs usually meant vampire.  But the distortion of the features, that was something you didn’t see in the movies.

 

The more time that passed since the previous night’s incident, the more Karen doubted what had happened.  Vampires were fiction.  Maybe Ms. Johnson hadn’t been dead afterall?  No, she had seen Oscar and Albert embalming her that afternoon; if you weren’t dead before that, you certainly were after.

 

What she needed were her old research materials.  She vaguely remembered obscure passages relating to uses for various weapons she came across.  At the time she had passed the references to Tu’uloch Mechnai and Fiereni as mythological figures or demonization of local warring tribes.  Maybe they were really referring to demons?  Twenty years later and she could still recall some of the more eye-catching weapons she had studied.  Karen smiled, but living and breathing ancient weapons for most of her collegiate career, she couldn’t help but remember some of it.  Her favorite had been the Messinian Battle Axe—tempered steel etched with intricate glyphs theorized to protect the wielder and a burnished ebony handle, curved for ease of use.  It was Doctor Reichfeld’s prized possession.  He had promised that when her dissertation was published that it would be hers.

 

What had she given up?  Suddenly, Karen felt regret over her choice to give up on her pursuit two decade before.  She had really loved it.  The craftsmanship that went into each weapon and the skill needed to use them.  She remembered the smell of musty ancient texts and dimly lit storage rooms.  Why had she left that all behind?  She had loved it; thrived on it.  Then one morning . . . one morning . . . she knew that she couldn’t work with them day after day knowing . . . knowing . . . knowing that she would never have the chance to use them?

 

Karen’s head ached.  This was crazy.  What she needed to do was go home and get some sleep.  In the morning things would make more sense.  She hoped.

 

~*~

 

After paying for her _Self-Defense for Dummies_ and double Chai latté, Karen set out to walk the five blocks to her apartment.  She had been there longer than she thought; the sky was well on its way to night.  While it wasn’t unsafe for a woman to be out alone after dark in Laramie, it wasn’t necessarily smart.

 

She was two blocks from her apartment when she felt the strange tingle she had experienced the night before.  No.  She tried to ignore it.  Too much time in her own head.  She was alone on a quiet street and there was no one following her.  It couldn’t hurt to glance behind, just to reassure herself.

 

Turning to look over her shoulder Karen saw no one.  Ha, she smirked, getting paranoid in our old age, aren’t we?  She turned back just in time to see a young man in a twisted visage stalking her way.

 

“Slayer?” he questioned, laughter evident in his voice.

 

Karen started to back away.  Why hadn’t she taken the main streets that were inhabited and well-lit, not the back way which was quicker and more or less abandoned?  Smart, Karen.

 

“Oh, don’t leave yet, Slayer, the fun is just beginning,” the young man chuckled.  He was joined on either side by two youngish looking women.  “We just wanted to make sure you got home all safe and sound.”

 

Was she supposed to believe that?  Karen’s eyes began darting around, looking for something, anything, that could be used for a weapon.  She could just run away, but somehow she doubted she could outrun the three of them.

 

“A bit old, isn’t she?” one of the females asked.  “Are you sure she’s the Slayer?”

 

“Don’t you feel it, you fool?  The power?” the other woman hissed.  Then grinned, “But she’s so green.  Jack, let me take her, please?”

 

“You’re one to talk about being green, girl,” the first woman growled.  “Who was turned not even last week.”

 

For a moment, Karen was hopeful that the two women would take on each other, but the male, Jack, stepped in.

 

“Miranda.  Carrie.  Is this the kind of impression we want to make to the Slayer?  A group of bickering children?” he chastised them.

 

The two women gave one last glare to each other then turned back to Karen.

 

“Shall we, girls?” Jack asked.

 

In a flash, the trio surrounded Karen.  Running had been an option.  Now she was trapped, unarmed except for her book and double Chai latté.  The book might have been some use had she read it.  Think, Karen, think.

 

Then she stopped thinking and acted.

 

She tossed the latté into Jack’s face, and ducked past his stunned figure.  The women were following close behind as Karen made her way to the near-by dumpster.  Stopping, she pulled out the half-exposed, cracked two-by-four.  She whirled around just in time to catch female number two, Carrie, on the end of it, turning her to dust.  The other one, Miranda, lunged but Karen ducked out of the way and the woman fell into a heap of trash bags.  Before Karen could attack, she was grabbed from behind by Jack, who was less than pleased by his earlier shower.

 

“Nice try, Slayer,” he growled into her ear.

 

Karen grabbed the arm around her neck, ducked, and twisted the arm up behind her captor as she moved behind him.  A pop followed by Jack’s cry told her the playing field was getting a bit more level.  While Jack writhed on the ground, Miranda pounced again.  Prepared this time, Karen blocked each of opponent’s blows; it was like she knew before the other woman did where she was going to attack.

 

Finally, Karen took the offensive and began punching back.  Left, right, swing, feint, jab right, duck down, swing, finished by a kick that sent the woman crashing against the dingy brick wall.  Locating her two-by-four, Karen sent the woman to join her companion with a simple thrust of the board.

 

She turned to face Jack who was scrambling backwards, clutching his useless left arm.

 

“So, do you still think it’s fun to attack women in back alleys?” she asked, advancing on him.

 

“Hey, no harm meant, really,” he grimaced.  “Just, you know, trying to see if you knew the ropes.”

 

“Do I really look like I was born yesterday?”

 

He shook his head.

 

“So I am old?”

 

“N-no!” He glanced down to see the board in his chest, a look of horror on his face before he disappeared into dust.

 

It wasn’t until Karen was safely in her apartment when the events in the alley sunk in.  She collapsed sobbing against the door.  Quiet Karen Ellis had just killed three people in a back alley and it had felt like the most natural thing in the world.

 

What was happening to her?


	5. Old Friends

Karen stood outside room 358 in the History Building on the University of Wyoming campus.  _Dr. Arthur Reichfeld_ the plaque on the door read.  Twenty years later and his still had the same cramped little office; she would have expected him to move up and on during that time.  But his Christmas cards never said much more than “Best Wishes for a Happy Season, Arthur.”  If she was smart, Karen would have called him, but visiting him during office hours seemed appropriate somehow.  Besides, it had taken her a week to screw up the courage to pay her old mentor and friend a visit.

 

Taking a deep breath, she wrapped on the door.

 

“Come in,” a gruff voice barked.

 

Karen carefully made her way into the office, trying to avoid toppling any of the numerous stacks of books.

 

“Conrad, I know you’re going to try and argue the validity of ‘Monty Python and the Holy Grail’ as a representation of the class struggle in England during the middle ages, I—” Arthur Reichfeld fell silent when he looked up and saw that it was not Conrad after all.

 

“Doctor Reichfeld, I know it has been awhile, but—” she was cut off as the stocky professor got to his feet.

 

“Karen, how many times do I have to tell you to call me ‘Arthur’?  I thought we moved past such formality years ago,” he chastised; but the tone was undermined by the twinkle in his grey eyes.

 

She smiled, immediately put at ease.  They had said hi in passing five year earlier at the funeral for one of his colleagues.  But they hadn’t actually talked in eighteen years, not since he finally accepted the fact that she had given up.

 

Where did she begin?  Hey, Doctor Reichfeld, I figured what with your interest in ancient studies that you wouldn’t think I am a complete loon for saying I’ve been attacked by vampires . . . twice.  No, not the way to go.

 

“I was in the neighborhood, checking on some courses for the summer, and thought I’d stop in and say hi,” she ventured.  Feeling she needed to say more, “Self-defense actually.”

 

“Self-defense?” he eye his old student carefully.

 

“A woman can’t be too careful these days, never knowing what she may run into on the streets,” she added hastily.

 

“True,” he nodded.

 

“So, how’s life in the history department?  Any big shakeups?”  Of course there would be big shakeups, you idiot, it has been two decades since you left.

 

“Mercer’s the dean now,” he grimaced.

 

“Freddy?  Freddy Mercer who had to submit his dissertation three times for approval?”

 

“The same.”

 

“Who would have thought?  I figured he would have finally given up and settled for teaching high school students.”

 

“It’s always a bit of a surprise where people end up,” the professor said in a tone that spoke volumes.

 

“Isn’t it?” Karen replied, a forced lightness in her voice.  She began to flip through random books.

 

“What is it, Karen?  This is not just a friendly visit,” he stayed her hand on one of the volumes, forcing her to look at him.  “Something has happened.”

 

“No, nothing at—” she sighed heavily.  She had never been a very good liar, although she seemed to be doing quite a bit of it as of late.  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

 

He studied her for a moment.  “Try me.”

 

She put down the book and sat down.  Fidgeted.  Stood back up.  “A little over a week ago, one of my clients attacked me.” 

 

“Aren’t your clients usually . . .”

 

“Dead?  Well, I thought she was until she sat up and came after me.  We fought and then I stabbed her and she turned to dust,” she paused, walking over to browse one of the shelves— _A Brief History of Messopotamia, The Rise and Fall of Alexander the Great, Hannibal, Meryton’s Companion of Mythos and the Mystical . . ._ Karen pulled the worn leather book from the shelf and began to flip through.

 

The professor cleared his throat.  Right, relating crazy story here. 

 

“I know, working late, probably dreamed it?  But the next morning, when I woke up on the floor, the viewing room was a mess and . . .” Karen trailed off, and looked at her old friend.  He seemed interested with his serious, unreadable expression that she remembered him wearing whenever being addressed by students.  “Then that night, on my way home from the bookstore, three more . . . people cornered me and I managed to fight them off.”

 

“Your attackers, was there anything unusual about them?” Doctor Reichfeld inquired, a leading note in his voice.

 

“Unusual?  Um . . .” She couldn’t be certain they were vampires, but . . . better to not admit that out loud.  “Their faces were distorted and one of them called me ‘slayer.’”

 

“Slayer?  Are you certain they said _slayer_?” he leaned forward.

 

“I think so,” she replied carefully.  “Why?”

 

This time the professor stopped and seemed to be thinking over what he was going to say next.  “It sounds familiar.  Um, has anything else out of the ordinary happened?”

 

“When I was in Wal-Mart, the afternoon before my client attacked.  I thought I was having a heart attack but then—”

 

She was cut off by a knock at the door, followed by a tussled head peeking in the door.

 

“Are you busy, Professor?”

 

“As you can see, Conrad,” the professor replied tersely.

 

“No, no, I was just leaving.  I need to get back to work,” Karen made to excuse herself, finally coming to her senses and realizing how insane this idea was to begin with.  Why did she think he would understand?

 

“Karen, can we continue this later?” he asked hopefully.

 

 “It was good to see you again, Do—Arthur,” was all she said.

 

With that, Karen ducked quickly out the door and ran all the way to her car.

 


	6. Destiny Lost

When she didn’t want to think, Karen cleaned.  At the moment she was giving her apartment the most thorough spring-cleaning it had ever seen.  Between the events of the last week and her mortifying visit to Doctor Reichfeld, thinking was not a smart option at the moment.

 

Mr. Clean and Karen were busily scrubbing away at the kitchen floor when the door buzzer sounded.  The only person who ever visited her was, well, no one.  Probably just another tenant who forgot their keys, as was usually the case.  After a second buzz, she went over and hit the entry button.  Didn’t they know she was busy?

 

She had just gotten comfortable on the floor when there was a knock at her door.  Ok, so maybe someone was paying her a visit after all.  Somehow she doubted vampires took the time for their future meal to buzz them in.  Glancing through the peephole, she was surprised to see—

 

“Doctor Reichfeld?”  She pulled the door open.

 

“Karen, how many—nevermind,” he shook his head and readjusted the box he was carrying.  “May I come in?”

 

“Oh, of course,” she motioned him in, eyeing the box warily.  “Um, to what do I owe the—Why are you here?”

 

“To continue our conversation from earlier,” the professor stated simply.

 

“I should have never troubled you with all of that.  It’s not your problem,” Karen apologized.

 

“Actually, it is my problem, or, rather, responsibility,” he said, placing the box on her table.

 

“What do you mean, responsibility?  And what on earth is in the box?”

 

“To answer the second question:  your old research material.  The first requires a bit more explanation.  Might I by any chance have a glass of water?”

 

“Sure.”  Karen left him standing by the table while she went and poured him a glass of cold water from the refrigerator.  She handed it to him with a look that said, “Well?”

 

When he didn’t immediately reply, Karen went back to scrubbing her floor.  He could take all the time in the world, but she wasn’t going to wait on him.

 

“The moment I read your paper on the evolution and importance of the crossbow in early European warfare . . . the interest you showed, well, it’s something Watchers dream about,” he sighed reminiscently, as he took a seat at the table.

 

Karen looked up from the linoleum to fix her old professor with a questioning stare.

 

“Ah, yes, you really aren’t familiar with the mythos of the Slayer.  I should probably explain a few things first,” Arthur replied.

 

That would be nice, Karen thought to herself.  Putting aside the sponge, she looked at him expectantly, “If you can explain what has been happening to me, I’m all ears.”

 

“In the early ages, the earth was overrun by all manner of demons.  Humanity suffered greatly at the hands of these creatures, but they suffered the most from the vampire, a demon far deadlier in that it could masquerade as a human.  In one village, the problem was particularly difficult, so the elders sought out the help of a group of nomadic priests that promised a solution.  They would provide the village with a warrior and protector against these demons in exchange for the village chief’s only daughter.” He paused briefly, taking a sip of the water, then continued.  “The girl was given to the priests with little hesitation, and they took her into the wild.

 

“After a month when no warrior had shown and the vampire problem seemed worse, the elders discussed sending a group in search of the priests to exact retribution for the trickery.  The meeting adjourned early, with it decided that a group would set out the next morning.  As they were leaving, the elders realized their way was blocked by a group of vampires.  The vampires, however, seemed to be otherwise occupied; a fight of sorts had broken out in the town center.  Soon the group of vampires had thinned and they could see one person in the center, dispatching the menaces one after another.  Eventually, the person stood alone.  The elders stepped forward to thank their warrior who had come at last, but stopped when they realized that their warrior was none other than the chief’s only daughter.  And then the girl was gone.

 

“Some of the villagers claimed to see the girl, prowling in the dark, but she was never seen in the town again.  After that night, the village ceased to suffer at the hands of the vampires,” Arthur stopped again for water.  “In the decades and centuries that followed, stories began to arise in other villages and towns around the world of young girls suddenly becoming warriors over night and protecting their homes from demons that had been plaguing them.

 

“Descendants of the original priests were charged with watching over these girls, locating them for training and instruction before they were chosen.  They formed a group, the Watchers’ Council, to look after these future warriors, these girls who had the potential to become the Slayer:  ‘One girl, in all the world, a Chosen One. One born with the strength and skill to hunt the vampires, to stop the spread of evil . . .’” he trailed off.  “There’s more, but my mind’s a little rusty.”

 

Karen, who had been listening in rapt silence the entire time, finally spoke up.  “So let me get this straight, a girl is given the power to fight vampires, evil, darkness, et cetera, and you think this is tied in with what has been happening to me?”

 

“Correct,” he replied simply.

 

“And you know all of this because you are one of these ‘Watchers’?  My Watcher?” she asked.

 

“ _Was_ would be the more appropriate term,” he corrected.  “I haven’t been a Watcher for almost—”

 

“Twenty years,” she finished for him.  “I was supposed to be one of these girls, wasn’t I?”

 

The professor nodded.  “Not all girls with the potential to be a slayer become the Slayer.  But you, Karen, should have become the Slayer.”

 

Karen looked at him in confusion.

 

“Many girls have the potential, but some girls are supposed to be chosen.  There are no guarantees, mind you; things happen.  That is why there are so many who can be chosen.  But you were one of the ones who should have been chosen; you were next in line, so to speak,” he stopped.

 

“Oh!  Oh,” Karen said, realization finally dawning on her.  “That’s why I stopped caring.  Why I gave it all up.”

 

“Your degree?”  Arthur studied his student, waiting for further explanation, which quickly followed.

 

“I think so,” she nodded, the pieces falling into place.  “I woke up one morning and knew that something was gone.  I don’t think I knew exactly what until now.  I know I felt this overwhelming sense of loss, like something had been stolen from me.  Being around the weapons made it worse.  I couldn’t bear it, so I had to get away.  I didn’t want to think; I didn’t care.”

 

“You could have told me,” he said quietly. 

 

“Told you what I didn’t understand myself?  Until now.”

 

They sat silently.

 

“So why did you never tell me any of this?” she asked.

 

“It never seemed the right time.  I figured when you were chosen that it would be more believable than if I were to pull you aside and tell you this strange ~~but true~~ story,” he said wearily, looking all sixty-five of his years.  “I think I suspected as much when I heard that another had been called but . . . You had so much potential.  Your knowledge of weaponry was outstanding.  I respected you as both a student and colleague.  That’s why I tried so long to get you to come back.”

 

“Why didn’t you leave?”

 

“I was hoping that . . . I couldn’t just give up on you,” Arthur shrugged.  “I think I stayed all of these years because I felt responsible.  And  . . . I didn’t know what else to do.” 

 

After a pause, Karen asked quietly, “So why me?  Now?  Is someone trying to make up for some mistake?  Or is this a mistake?”

 

Arthur shook his head, “I don’t think it’s a mistake.”

 

Karen got to her feet, knees popping in protest.  “Look at me, Arthur.”

 

He did.

 

“How could this not be a mistake?” she motioned to herself.  “I’m anything _but_ a girl.”

 

“There are never mistakes,” he said, more to himself than to her.

 

Karen wanted to argue, but knew it really wouldn’t get them anywhere.  Mistake or not, it seemed she had been chosen, age notwithstanding.  She went over and started looking through the box Arthur had brought with him.  All of her notes, a few books; she was glad he had kept everything.  She looked at her old mentor and friend, “You kept it all.”

 

“I always was an optimist,” he said with a slight smile playing on his lips.

 

She smiled in return, pulling out the chair next to him.  “What are we supposed to do now, Arthur?”

 

“Prepare you to face whatever comes your way,” he said simply.

 

“I think there’s a reason superheroes are all young and beautiful,” she said seriously.

 

“Besides agility and resilience?”

 

“Exactly,” she smiled.  “Anything else seems pretty ridiculous.”

 


	7. Visitor

A month had passed since Karen and Arthur had talked about her new situation in life.  In that time, Karen had faced and defeated, with increasing success, a dozen vampires, a Midori Slime Demon, and a pair of Ichslophen Lurkers.  Why any of these creatures thought Laramie was the first step to greater things was beyond her.

 

Karen’s days had taken on a new routine.  Weekday mornings, before work, she attended yoga class at the Y.  During her lunch hours, Karen would meet her old professor to discuss and research new techniques, demons, and weapons.  After work, in the evenings, they would meet up for more research and a little sparring.  Karen’s abilities no longer surprised her, too much, but what did surprise her was strength and ability her sixty-five- year-old former professor seemed to possess.  She could tell he did more than play racquetball over the years.

 

When they started working with weapons, Karen felt like she had come home at last.  Long buried knowledge helped feed skill and she learned that the craftsmanship extend far beyond the look and feel of the weapon.

 

A week ago, Arthur had suggested that she might start patrolling the streets and local cemeteries.  Karen was aghast.  Why should she go looking for trouble when it tended to find her?  There had been another incident at the funeral home, but fortunately the client-turned-pile–of-dust had only been waiting around to be cremated and she had had enough time to clean things up, thus avoiding the need for another creative explanation.

 

Fortunately, the first night Karen patrolled was the day Arthur had given her the treasured Messinian Battle Axe to use “just in case” she ran into something other than a vampire.  That was the night she met the Midori Slime Demon and learned to appreciate vampires and the fact they turned to dust.  She could deal with dust, but the slime . . .  The clothes she could deal with losing, but never would be too soon to bathe with lemon again.  A paper cut with lemon juice was one thing; a gash with it was a completely different game all together.  And then there had been the late night call to Arthur for help with the disposal; luckily there had been a dumpster nearby.

 

Today Karen nearly ran to Arthur’s office; she couldn’t wait to tell him about the double-bladed Galbraekin Staff she had found at the antiques dealer next to Barnes & Nobel.  A bit rusty, but the price was a steal considering the owner thought it was merely an unusual harvest scythe.

 

She was already in his office before she realized Arthur wasn’t alone.  His office hours weren’t until after four, but that didn’t mean the occasional student didn’t stop in.  She could leave, but she had grown used to having these lunches and . . . The visitor’s voice caught her attention; the low British cadence sounded vaguely familiar.  She’d always been a sucker for accents since . . . before she knew what she was doing, Karen was heading into Arthur’s inner office.

 

“Oh, Karen, I thought that was you,” the professor smiled pleasantly from his desk.  “There’s someone I would like you to meet.  Karen Ellis I’d like you to meet—”

 

“Rupert Giles,” she frowned at the man sitting opposite Arthur.

 

“K-Karen,” he stood quickly, almost knocking the chair over.

 

“I didn’t think you’d met—” Arthur stopped, remembering the last time Rupert had visited.  Karen had still been working on her dissertation.  Now that he thought back, he remembered them getting along fairly well.

 

Karen spoke first.  “I’m sorry to interrupt, Arthur; I can come back later.”

“I was, uh, actually, just leaving.” Rupert started for the door.

 

“You were doing no such thing,” Arthur said calmly from behind the desk.  Then to Karen, “And you aren’t going anywhere either.”

 

The two old acquaintances looked at each other, then sat petulantly in front of the old professor.

 

Arthur smiled in amusement; there was a story here but now wasn’t the time.  “I don’t know if your remember or not, Karen, but Rupert used to be a student of mine as well.”

 

Karen nodded, trying to look anywhere but at Rupert Giles.

 

“What I don’t think you know is that we also worked together for a time at the Watchers Council.”

 

Karen perked up a bit.

 

“Um, Arthur, I don’t think—” Rupert spoke up.

 

“She knows all about it,” Arthur cut him off.  “And I think what you were telling me might be of interest to Karen as well.  You were telling me about that remarkable Slayer of yours and how what she did would have set the Council on its ear.”

 

“Well, the First Evil was not only trying to take over the world but also to destroy the Slayer line,” Rupert picked up where he had left off.  “Things were looking fairly bleak at the end as the First’s powers grew.  A handful of skilled fighters and two-dozen scared girls do not amount to much of an army.  Desperate times call for desperate measures.  Buffy, my Slayer,” he added for Karen’s benefit, “had the idea to give the girls who had the potential to be a slayer, the power of the Slayer.  So in effect, any girl that could be a slayer would now be a slayer.  And like with many of the most unusual plans it worked.”

 

Karen sat thoughtfully while Rupert continued.

 

“After Sunnydale was destroyed, we moved on to Cleveland to set up a new home base and track down the girls who had been activated.  With the Council destroyed, our methods for tracking the girls are far from conventional or reliable.  Mostly it has been old fashioned leg work and ingenuity,” he finished.

 

“All of that information gone,” Arthur shook his head.  “But I would be lying if I said I wasn’t glad to see the Council replaced.  Many of the methods the Council used never sat too well with me.”

 

“You’ll hear no argument from me, Arthur,” Rupert smiled.  “Speaking of leg work, you haven by any chance heard anything about a girl with unusual powers in the area have you.  Willow located a girl in this area, but so far she has only been able to get the spell to narrow down the area to a fifty mile radius.”

 

“The girl might be closer than you think,” Arthur said slyly, winking at Karen.

 


	8. Dinner Discussions

Karen was putting her things away for the day, when Oscar brought her the phone.  No one called her at work, correction, ever called her.

 

“Karen, I’m glad I caught you.”  It was Arthur.  “I hate to cancel things at the last minute, but there’s a departmental dinner that I unfortunately have to go to this evening.”

 

“Oh,” she said, trying not to sound disappointed.  She hadn’t gotten the chance to tell him about her find at the antique shop because Rupert had decided to reappear after twenty years.

 

“I thought it would give you a chance to draw upon Rupert’s experience,” he finished.

 

“What would?” she hadn’t been paying attention.

 

“He also seemed very interested in your weapon knowledge.  Plus it would give you the chance to tell him about recent events,” the professor not so subtly hinted.

 

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt,” she conceded.  Karen couldn’t wait to see the look on Rupert’s face when she told him that she was the slayer he was looking for.

 

“Excellent.  He’ll meet you at the Rancher at seven,” Arthur said happily, hanging up before she could protest.

 

Being an old friend didn’t mean Arthur was safe from her wrath.  Well, she would definitely give Rupert an evening he wouldn’t forget.

 

~*~

 

“Rupert,” she greeted him with a forced smile.

 

“I, um, well . . . I assume Arthur didn’t leave room for argument with you either?” he attempted.

 

“No, he didn’t,” Karen relaxed slightly.  It had been over twenty years, twenty-two in three weeks to be exact, still . . .  He did have answers.  “Shall we go inside?”

 

He held the door open in response.  An over-enthusiastic redhead led them to their booth in a back corner; it was definitely her first day.

 

Unable to take the awkward silence, Karen decided to take the initiative.  “Any luck in your search?”

 

“There are a few rumors, but nothing concrete.  One would think that in an area like this anything unusual would stand out,” he shrugged.

 

“One would think,” she grimaced.

 

Silence.

 

“Do you plan on being in Laramie long?” she queried.

 

“A few days.  I do have to admit, I rather enjoy having the time away from a house overflowing with young women,” he sipped his water.  “At least there is more than one bathroom.”

 

“You should stick around until the Fourth; the town is transformed, alive almost,” Karen said idly.

 

Rupert frowned, removed his glasses and looked at her.  “I’m sorry, Karen.”

 

“For what?” she tried to wave the topic away.

 

“For being a wanker,” he said bluntly.  “I meant to . . . things . . . It was a dark time.  I’m none too proud of things I did.”

 

“Oh, way back . . . then . . . it was nothing,” Karen tried to act like it was nothing, but knew her tone gave her away.  Twenty-two years later and it still hurt; all the more so because she’d known it would happen the way it did.  He had been handsome and cocky and charming, with an accent that made him irresistible despite common sense.  He still was handsome and charming, but the cockiness was gone.  Nearly everyone grew up eventually.  “It was nothing,” she repeated more firmly.

 

“Just the same, I do apologize,” he said sincerely.

 

“Water under the bridge,” she smiled.  Then seeing the waitress approaching, “I recommend the peppered sirloin.”

 

~*~

 

Conversation had started flowing more smoothly by the time the entrees had arrived.  When dessert was taken away, Karen realized she was actually enjoying herself and suggested taking a walk.

 

Night was slowly falling as they made their way through the streets.  Rupert seemed genuinely impressed when she told him of her dissertation that was not and seemed almost giddy when she mentioned the Galbraekin Staff she had come across earlier that day.

 

“You do intend to purchase it?” he asked as they walked along, almost comfortably.

 

“First thing in the morning, actually, before you have a chance to steal it from the unsuspecting shop owner,” she grinned.

 

“How early does this shop open?”

 

“Uh uh,” she turned to him.  “I found it.  It’s mine.”

 

“Well, see.”  His look could only be described as rakish.

 

Her smile fell when she realized that they were no longer alone.  A particularly large vampire was heading towards them.

 

Rupert turned and gave a groan of annoyance when he saw what approached.  Inwardly Karen smiled; poor guy thought he was getting a little vacation out of the whole search.

 

Before he could react, Karen was approaching the attacker.  Looked like she wouldn’t have to tell Rupert his search was over. 

 

“Slayer,” the vampire growled.

 

“I don’t suppose we can put this off for another night?” she asked.  Seeing him move to attack, she ducked, spun, and taking advantage of his stumble, knocked the vampire to the ground.  A quick swipe of the vampire’s arm had her on her back next to him.  When he hovered over her, she sent a quick knee upward.  Rolling to her knees she looked to Rupert and saw the stake in his hand, “Mind tossing that here?”

 

Still unblinking, he tossed the stake to her, too shocked to do anything else.

 

“Thanks,” she smiled, finishing the vampire off before he could attempt to get up.

 

She got up from the pile of dust and went over to Rupert, who still looked stunned.  “I think I’m the girl you’re looking for.”

 


	9. Opportunity Knocks Again

“Rupert, you okay?” Karen asked him with concern.  “I thought you were used to this kind of thing.”

 

“I-I am,” he replied, still a bit dazed.  “It’s just that, well, um . . .”

 

“I’m a bit older than the typical Slayer?” she suggested with a laugh.

 

“Well, yes, actually.  This is highly unusual,” he said, frowning in concentration.  “Most slayers rarely live to twenty-five.  To be activated at your—after that is unheard of.  Oh this could make things very interesting indeed.”

 

By this time Rupert was in his own world, talking more to himself than to Karen.

 

“I admit I’m no school girl, still,” she muttered off-handedly.

 

“What?  Oh no! No, I didn’t mean it that way at all,” he apologized quickly.

 

“You did, but it’s alright.  Look at me,” she smiled faintly, “I’m forty-three years old, my hair is grey, and I’ve spent the last twenty-years of my life making dead people look good.  Now I’m suddenly a superhero.”

 

“I thought you were working toward your doctorate back—”

 

“I was, but I gave it up to do the hair and make-up on corpses,” she snorted.  “Pathetic, isn’t it?  I had a fellowship at the British Museum and my dissertation in its final stages, but woke up one morning and gave it all up.”

 

“Do you mind my asking why?” he queried.

 

She shrugged like it was nothing, something she had dealt with and moved on from.  “A month ago I wouldn’t have been able to tell you.  Today, well,” she chewed her lip.  “If a potential was supposed to be called, but wasn’t, why wouldn’t she be called?”

 

“There could be any number of reasons.  Possibly there was a greater need elsewhere or the next in line was incapacitated or killed.  With the Powers, it’s anyone’s guess,” he concluded.

 

“And those who aren’t called usually lead normal lives?”

 

“I would suspect those whom the Council were unable to locate for training wouldn’t know any different,” Rupert said simply.

 

But it wasn’t that simple.  Her life had gone from slightly more exciting than normal to quite a deal less exciting.  Actually Karen had gone from living to existing.  It was silly, how could you miss something that you never had or knew you could have?  Suddenly, she was very, very tired.

 

“I need to get home, early morning,” she forced a yawn.

 

“Of course,” Rupert agreed, watching her carefully.  “My rental car is around the next corner.  Can I offer you a ride?”

Karen nodded.

 

~*~

 

Waking up later than usual, Karen was frantically trying to gather her things to make it to the Y in time for her 8am yoga class.  She was in such a rush, that she actually ran Rupert down on her way out.

 

“Rupert?  A bit early for a social call, isn’t it?” she asked, gathering her dropped things.

 

“Actually, I would consider it more of a business call,” he clarified.  “But I seem to have caught you at a bad time.”

 

Karen glanced at her watch, then sighed in defeat.  “I wouldn’t make it anyway.  Want to go grab some coffee?” she offered.

 

“I would,” he smiled.

 

Tossing her things inside, she locked the apartment and led the way to the independent coffee house four blocks away.

 

“You said something about a business call?” she prompted as they walked along the main street of downtown Laramie.

 

He stopped walking.  “Would you consider moving to Cleveland?”

 

“Well, this is definitely sudden,” she grinned.

 

“No!  I didn’t mean . . . like I said it’s . . . oh bugger,” he gave up, too flustered to continue.  And was he blushing?

 

“To join the other slayers, you mean,” she took pity on him.

 

“Yes and no,” he said, slowly regaining his composure.  “While you are as new to being a slayer as most of them, you also have valuable experience and knowledge.”

 

“Because I’m old,” she added lightly.

 

Women!  she could almost here the thought.  “I meant your research,” he said calmly.  “I spoke with Arthur last night about everything that happened.  It was really his idea.”

 

“What was?” Karen said, a bit annoyed that they had talked about her behind her back.

 

“Having you come on as a weapons instructor.”

 

She blinked.

 

He went on.  “I knew a little bit about your research, but Arthur tells me that it’s more than that.  You not only know about the weapons, but know how to use them.”

 

“Well, you live and breathe something for two years, it kind of becomes a part of you,” she comment.  “I was surprised at how much I remembered after all these years.  But I had never actually worked with weapons until this past month.”

 

Rupert jumped in, “I know you have commitments here and I can’t offer you much more than food and a place to stay at the moment, but we could really use your help.”

 

“And you get to have someone your own age around,” she added noncommittally.

 

“Which alone I would be indebted to you for,” he said truthfully.

 

“Ok,” she said.

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“Ok,” she repeated.  “I’ll do it.”

 

“You’ll do it?” he gaped at her.  “I thought that, well, what I mean is—”

 

“You thought you’d have to convince me?” she finished for him.  “I figure I’m two decades overdue for leaving this place.  Cleveland isn’t exactly London, but I think I’ll manage.”

 

“No, it definitely is not London,” he agreed.

 

Karen finally realized where they were.  “Mind if we stop in here a second?” she asked, motioning to the antique store.  “There’s a Galbraekin Staff with my name on it.”

 

“Your name?” he arched a brow.  “If my eyes don’t deceive me, I see neither purse nor wallet with you.  Therefore, I think it may have my name on it.”

 

She reached in her back pocket and pulled out a card.  “My name,” she said, waving her Visa.”


	10. Beginnings

At forty-three years old she was going to start living her life.  Karen was doing what she should have done twenty years earlier; she was leaving Laramie.  She had already blown one once in a lifetime opportunity by passing up the fellowship with the British Museum; she wasn’t going to lose another.  Regardless of whether this Slayer thing was temporary or lasting, it was worth seeing where it took her.

 

Oscar had almost seemed grateful when Karen gave him notice that she would be leaving.  It might have helped matters that a third customer in less than a month had inexplicable disappeared while under her watchful eye.  She had given him twenty years of good work, but that didn’t mean profit came second.

 

Arthur, while overjoyed to see her finally putting her long dormant knowledge and skills to use, was sad to lose her company.  But with his retirement pending, he was giving serious thought to Cleveland.

 

“What happened to the villa in Majorca?” she asked slyly.

 

“Who wants to spend their days lazing on the beach with the elite?” he said, eyes twinkling.  “I may be getting on in years, but I still like a little excitement from time to time.”

 

“From what Rupert tells me, the hellmouth in Cleveland, while smaller than the one in Sunnydale, does manage to provide their days with a bit of excitement from time to time,” she smiled.  “Speaking of Cleveland, I should probably go finish packing.”

 

Karen then took the Messinian Battle Axe from her bag and set in on Arthur’s desk.

 

“What’s this?” he frowned at her.

 

“Your axe.  I thought I should return it,” she explained.

 

“No, I do believe it is your axe,” he retorted, trying to keep a straight face.

 

“Doctor Reichfeld, I can’t!” she gasped.

 

He eyed her sternly.  “If you’re going to resort to formalities again, I might just take it back.”

 

She quickly grabbed the axe, looking at it with wonder.  “I just thought you were letting me use it.”

 

“Actually, there is one condition,” he said off-handedly.

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yes,” he smiled.  “Promise me you’ll give serious thought to finishing your dissertation.  The time limit has passed for it to count toward your degree, but it would stand a good chance of getting published.  I’m modifying the original arrangement we had.  If you remember, you weren’t supposed to get the axe until after you finished.  But I’m hoping maybe bribery . . .”

 

He didn’t get to finish as she crushed him in a great hug.  “Thank you, Arthur,” she whispered.

 

~*~

 

Most of Karen’s things had been shipped ahead of time, so when it came time to finally leave, she was able to pack light.

 

The flight was uneventful, Rupert filling her in on the people she was about to meet.

 

“You care for them a great deal, don’t you?” she said when he had finished telling her about the kids from Sunnydale.

 

“They are my family,” he said simply.  “And as trying as family, too.”

 

All too soon, they had arrived in Cleveland and were driving up to the temporary Slayer headquarters.  To say Karen was nervous would have been a gross understatement.  She was forty-three, what right did she have running off to play warrior at such an age?

 

“Ready?” Rupert prompted, flashing an impish grin as he opened the door.

 

Maybe her life hadn’t been so bad before.  Boring but—Karen found herself in a flurry of activity.  There seemed to be young girls everywhere.  She saw a young man with an eye patch approach them.

 

“Buffy, Giles is back,” he called.  Then seeing Karen, he did a double take.  “Giles, I thought you went to Wyoming to find a slayer, not a girlfriend.”

 

“Xander, just because I happen to bring someone who is older than twenty-five does not mean that—”he struggled to remain calm. “I would like you to meet Karen Ellis, she—”

 

“Hey, G,” a brunette in her early twenties joined them.  She smiled at Karen, “Bout time you got yourself some action.”

 

Karen wanted to crawl into a hole.  And from what she could tell, Rupert looked like he wanted to as well.

 

Taking advantage of Rupert’s silence, the girl held out her hand, “I’m Faith, one of the former Chosen Two.  Aside from being Jeeves’ new lady friend, you are?”

 

“Karen,” she took the hand, unsure of what else to do.

 

“So what brings you here, other than tall, charming and British?” Faith grinned wickedly.

 

“I, um . . . weapons,” Karen managed to reply.

 

“Karen here is going to be our weapons instructor,” Rupert jumped in.

 

Xander and Faith looked at each other.  Karen knew the last thing she looked like she could handle were weapons.  Well, Faith didn’t look like a murderer to Karen.  Appearances weren’t everything.

 

“Hey, Giles, am I glad you’re back,” a petite blond joined their group.  “How was Wyoming?  Any luck?”

 

“Actually, I did have some luck,” he said, his tone neutral.  “Buffy, I would like you to meet Karen, the vampire slayer.”

 

The girl did a double take when she looked at Karen.  “Uh, Giles . . .”

 

“No offense, lady, but,” Xander turned to Rupert, “isn’t she a bit old to be a slayer?”

 


	11. Epilogue

At forty-three years old she was going to start living her life. Karen was doing what she should have done twenty years earlier; she was leaving Laramie. She had already blown one once in a lifetime opportunity by passing up the fellowship with the British Museum; she wasn’t going to lose another. Regardless of whether this Slayer thing was temporary or lasting, it was worth seeing where it took her.

Oscar had almost seemed grateful when Karen gave him notice that she would be leaving. It might have helped matters that a third customer in less than a month had inexplicable disappeared while under her watchful eye. She had given him twenty years of good work, but that didn’t mean profit came second.

Arthur, while overjoyed to see her finally putting her long dormant knowledge and skills to use, was sad to lose her company. But with his retirement pending, he was giving serious thought to Cleveland.

“What happened to the villa in Majorca?” she asked slyly.

“Who wants to spend their days lazing on the beach with the elite?” he said, eyes twinkling. “I may be getting on in years, but I still like a little excitement from time to time.”

“From what Rupert tells me, the hellmouth in Cleveland, while smaller than the one in Sunnydale, does manage to provide their days with a bit of excitement from time to time,” she smiled. “Speaking of Cleveland, I should probably go finish packing.”

Karen then took the Messinian Battle Axe from her bag and set in on Arthur’s desk.

“What’s this?” he frowned at her.

“Your axe. I thought I should return it,” she explained.

“No, I do believe it is your axe,” he retorted, trying to keep a straight face.

“Doctor Reichfeld, I can’t!” she gasped.

He eyed her sternly. “If you’re going to resort to formalities again, I might just take it back.”

She quickly grabbed the axe, looking at it with wonder. “I just thought you were letting me use it.”

“Actually, there is one condition,” he said off-handedly.

“Oh?”

“Yes,” he smiled. “Promise me you’ll give serious thought to finishing your dissertation. The time limit has passed for it to count toward your degree, but it would stand a good chance of getting published. I’m modifying the original arrangement we had. If you remember, you weren’t supposed to get the axe until after you finished. But I’m hoping maybe bribery . . .”

He didn’t get to finish as she crushed him in a great hug. “Thank you, Arthur,” she whispered.

~*~

Most of Karen’s things had been shipped ahead of time, so when it came time to finally leave, she was able to pack light.

The flight was uneventful, Rupert filling her in on the people she was about to meet.

“You care for them a great deal, don’t you?” she said when he had finished telling her about the kids from Sunnydale.

“They are my family,” he said simply. “And as trying as family, too.”

All too soon, they had arrived in Cleveland and were driving up to the temporary Slayer headquarters. To say Karen was nervous would have been a gross understatement. She was forty-three, what right did she have running off to play warrior at such an age?

“Ready?” Rupert prompted, flashing an impish grin as he opened the door.

Maybe her life hadn’t been so bad before. Boring but—Karen found herself in a flurry of activity. There seemed to be young girls everywhere. She saw a young man with an eye patch approach them.

“Buffy, Giles is back,” he called. Then seeing Karen, he did a double take. “Giles, I thought you went to Wyoming to find a slayer, not a girlfriend.”

“Xander, just because I happen to bring someone who is older than twenty-five does not mean that—”he struggled to remain calm. “I would like you to meet Karen Ellis, she—”

“Hey, G,” a brunette in her early twenties joined them. She smiled at Karen, “Bout time you got yourself some action.”

Karen wanted to crawl into a hole. And from what she could tell, Rupert looked like he wanted to as well.

Taking advantage of Rupert’s silence, the girl held out her hand, “I’m Faith, one of the former Chosen Two. Aside from being Jeeves’ new lady friend, you are?”

“Karen,” she took the hand, unsure of what else to do.

“So what brings you here, other than tall, charming and British?” Faith grinned wickedly.

“I, um . . . weapons,” Karen managed to reply.

“Karen here is going to be our weapons instructor,” Rupert jumped in.

Xander and Faith looked at each other. Karen knew the last thing she looked like she could handle were weapons. Well, Faith didn’t look like a murderer to Karen. Appearances weren’t everything.

“Hey, Giles, am I glad you’re back,” a petite blond joined their group. “How was Wyoming? Any luck?”

“Actually, I did have some luck,” he said, his tone neutral. “Buffy, I would like you to meet Karen, the vampire slayer.”

The girl did a double take when she looked at Karen. “Uh, Giles . . .”

“No offense, lady, but,” Xander turned to Rupert, “isn’t she a bit old to be a slayer?”


End file.
